Short one shot I wrote with the prompt of a childhood memory. Might be ****. Not sure yet.


My nose stung. The huge coat my parents bought did well to keep my arms and chest warm, but not my face. My face was red. In secret, I was thankful for the cold. I would blame the wind for making my cheeks that scarlet color, not the thought of imminent embarrassment that came when the army walked over the hill. I thought for a moment about running, but no. I'd stand my ground.
It was my big mouth that got me here. Sitting, waiting for my punishment. No doubt an onslaught of nasty name calling and eternal banishment to the unpopular crowd. But I had been honest. I spoke my mind...free thinkers we are called, not afraid of the rule of anyone or anything. The freezing metal of the bench was seeping through my jeans and making my skin go numb. I refused to move. Any shift in body weight could be judged as a sign of discomfort. I wouldn't give them that pleasure.
It had been a warmer day yesterday, happier. I swung on the bars with my friends, enjoying the short break from classes. It was recess. A time when supposedly, you were allowed so speak freely. To say whatever was on your mind. I though I was safe, but there was a mole. She was standing near my friends and I and heard the words escape my mouth. The words that would seal my fate.
"Christine's a slut."
My friends laughed slightly and nodded their heads. But no defense from them could help me. The mole had heard and was walking over.
"I heard what you just said. Christine's my friend. I'm telling her you said that!" and the mole was off to the football field. To where the popular girls spent recess. To Christine Fransisco.
My stomach dropped. I swallowed hard. The alpha female of the sixth grade would soon know what I had just said, and when she did, my life would be turned into a living hell. She would start rumors about me. Throw things at me in class, snicker at me when we passed in the hall. Forget about ever being popular, ever being a cheerleader or being asked to a dance. I was done for.
And now sitting under the gray sky atop the hill of the schoolyard, I awaited the confrontation. Christine would come up to me to personally tell me that she would ruin my life. They came up over the hill, Christine in the center flanked by four girls on each side. I used to be friends with some of these girls. When boys and clothes and money didn't matter. I had slept at some of their houses, swam in their pools, played with their Barbies. But in middle school most of those friendships dissolved, and I was left with the two girls that stood behind me, afraid that my comment would affect them too.
"I heard what you said about me," Christine spoke when she reached me.
"Yeah?"
"You aren't my friend. You don't know me."
"I know how you seem," she looked baffled that I had actually spoken back. That I was about to defend myself rather than accept her lashing. "I mean whenever you're around boys you act all flirty. That's just the way I perceive you."
She didn't answer. She stood and looked confused for a moment. Deflated. The girls rustled behind her, whispering to each other. I saw one, Emily Winters, bite her lip to keep from laughing.
"Well..." Christine started, trying to seem confident, "you're wrong." And she turned on her heel and started to walk away. Her army turned to follow. Emily turned back. She looked me in the eye and almost in a whisper said, "You're not wrong." With that she hurried to catch up with her group, and I sat there, not cold anymore, and I smiled.